A Mikey Moment
by Cynlee
Summary: A physician who treats himself has a fool for a doctor. Sorry. Mike learns a few lessons about his own limits is probably a better description without giving away the story.


_Seriously-- things in my life lately have been rather crappy. Not world-shaking crappy, far from it-- God knows there are people out there with REAL problems-- but tonight I needed a diversion. It's a writing exercise if you will, a method of shaking this depression. I may retool it later, but for now I need to toss it out there and see if it flies._

_TMNT are the sole property of one Peter Laird. And sometimes I think he doesn't deserve them.  
_

**A Mikey Moment**

Donatello sighed in exasperation, but he held onto his patience as well as he could-- considering his "patient".

"Michelangelo, I'm telling you, sincerely, you do NOT have--"

But the turtle could not be dissuaded.

"No Don! I'm not stupid! I know how to read! I've got all the symptoms-- mood swings, anxiety, sadness-- I thought I'd NEVER stop crying over that show the other night--"

" 'Fairly Odd Parents'?" Raph's unhelpful snort did more to piss off Don than his currently "suffering" younger brother did.

"And don't forget the irritability," Mike continued, shooting an almost Raphael-like glance at the aforementioned brother. "I mean, you heard how I went after Splinter the other day."

"Mike, you always get riled when Sensei threatens to create a bonfire with your comics if you don't pick them up," Leo sensibly pointed out.

But Michelangelo was deaf to his nay-saying brothers.

"I've been crying, Don-- CRYING-- and I can't concentrate in the dojo-- SHUT UP RAPH!"-- this last before any editorial comment could be made. "And I've had trouble sleeping! I NEVER have trouble sleeping!"

Don took several deep breaths.

"I told you, Mike, if you'd cut out the caffeine before 8:00 pm, you would not be wired at 2:00 am," he said with as straight a face as possible. Considering the amount of coffee he was known to consume, he had opened himself to a world of ridicule.

Fortunately, Mike held the attention of his (highly amused) older siblings.

"Michelangelo, I am serious when I tell you that there is no way in Hell that you are suffering from what you think you are suffering from!"

"What about the loss of appetite? What about the insomnia and mood swings?" Mike insisted. He was no more going to let go of his self-diagnosis than his precious Klunkie-wunkie would let go of a dead sewer rat.

"What about the loss of interest in sex?" Don countered. "What about the difficulty in bonding with the baby? Those are two major symptoms, you know."

Mike blinked, then glanced at the baby in Leo's arms.

"I don't have any trouble bonding with Shadow," he said. "Shadow wuvs her Unka Mikey with all the wuvs of the world. Don't you, Shadow-wadow?"

Young Shadow squealed and squirmed and made every effort to reach her "Unka Mikey".

"All of your so-called symptoms can be put down to other things," Don continued, as Mike retrieved his precious Shadow-wadow from her rather stern Uncle Leonardo. "Like too many video games and too much junk food, and not enough sleep."

"Like he does not get enough sleep in the dojo," wafted faintly from Splinter's room in response. Mike ignored the stifled snorts of mirth from his brothers, totally absorbed in his widdle Shadow-wadow-kins.

"So, it is clinically impossible for you to have Postpartum depression," Don concluded. "Not to mention you actually would have had to give birth in order to experience it," he added under his breath-- again-- for the tenth time.

Mike finally seemed to have calmed down. All these changes lately-- Casey had a daughter, the Foot were pretty much under control and they had a truce (if this Karai could be trusted)-- but this two-week long baby-sitting gig he'd taken while Casey and April were on their honeymoon had been more stressful than he'd anticipated.

"I mean, who could believe such a cute little baby girl could poop so much?" he'd shouted earlier, up to his elbows in diaper duty.

"So, you're finally gonna let us help, right?" Raph stated more than asked.

Mike stared at his brothers in defeat. For a week and a half he'd insisted on caring for the baby himself-- "because we have a special connection" he'd said. ("Because you both are such innocents", Raph had said-- quietly for once).

For a week and a half he'd carried, bathed, fed, burped, rocked, carried, bathed, rocked, rocked, burped, changed changed and changed the little girl until he could do it in his sleep.

He'd spent sleepless nights listening to such noises as he could never imagine emerge from such a tiny little human-- the decibel-level that even Klunk had taken refuge in Raph's room. And he'd insisted on doing it all himself. He'd refused even the knowledgeable help of Splinter, who had decided to let his son learn on his own.

And it had taught the young Ninja a lesson.

It may not take a village to raise a child, but it certainly would help to have three brothers and a father lending a hand.

OH, and he should never ever again spend a sleepless evening surfing WebMD™©.

"Okay," he shakily sighed in defeat. "Okay. I'll believe you, Don. And I'll let you help. I promise."

"Good," the exasperated turtle replied, prepared to return to his long-delayed projects. The other two, crisis averted (for the moment), went on with their own lives (Raphael having first liberated the baby from her Unka Mikey's overly protective clutches, though not without a struggle).

"Make sure you test the temperature before you give it to her!" Mike called after him as he carried the child into the kitchen for "a bottle of milk for you and a bottle of beer for me."-- "And I don't mean the Budweiser™!"

"He had better not drink anything stronger than tea!" came the ominous command from Master Splinter.

"Hai, Sensei!"

Mike sat down on the couch, forcing himself to "let go". He was quiet for five minutes, trying to clear his mind while replaying his brother's comforting diagnosis in his head. Eyes closed, he allowed himself to "relax" on the couch. He was all right. He was going to be all right. There was nothing wrong with him. All the symptoms could be explained away. He was all right. Just a little over-heated-- man, that had happened in a flash-- and he had a sudden craving for chocolate.

Hot flashes and craving chocolate???

"Donatello!"


End file.
